Deception (2 page)

He wasn’t himself after
she’d kicked him out
. And why not say it? It was the truth, wasn’t it? She’d kicked him out. The reasons on the divorce papers would read “incompatibility”, but it hadn’t always been that way.

“Mrs. Juran?” A man in wrinkled scrubs and mussed hair stood with one hand on the open door of the waiting room.

Tess stood on shaky legs. He came forward. Deep lines of fatigue etched his mouth. His eyes were bloodshot and watery behind his glasses.

He held his hand out to her. “Dr. Sullivan. There’s a room down the hall that’s a little more private.”

He turned to go, but Tess snagged his elbow.

“Alex?” She cleared her throat. “Is he…?

He hesitated. “He’s out of surgery and in recovery.”

Tess nodded and followed him out the door. Alex was alive for now. That’s all she would concentrate on.

Dr. Sullivan led her to a chair identical to the ones in the room she’d just left.

“He’s a lucky man.” The doctor settled into the chair across from her. “Thankfully he was wearing his vest. There’s bruising in the chest area but no broken ribs, which is a plus, considering. The other bullet damaged the knee joint and nicked the popliteal artery causing him to lose a substantial amount of blood. We’ve stopped the bleeding and have been giving him infusions. When he stabilizes, we’ll replace the knee.”

Tess tried to concentrate but her thoughts kept scattering.
Alex’s knee. Bullet. Damage
.

“Mrs. Juran?”

She blinked. “Yes?”

“I know this is a lot to take in.”

She nodded. She should ask questions but didn’t know what to ask. She felt helpless, alone and so scared. “He’s going to be okay? He’ll live?”

“The next few hours are critical, but all indications are good. He’s strong and in great shape and that will help.”

She closed her eyes. A lone tear trickled down her cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered.

***

Tess stood inside the recovery room. Curtains separated the large room into smaller segments. Monitors beeped while nurses scurried back and forth and doctors conferred with patients’ families in hushed tones. In the center of it all stood the nurses’ station like central command during a battle.

“This way.” A kind, plump nurse motioned for Tess to follow her through the controlled chaos.

“Talk to him,” she said over her shoulder, deftly swerving in and out of clumps of people. “Touch him. Let him know you’re here.” She avoided a near collision with another nurse pushing a cart. “He’s been taken off the respirator but is still heavily sedated. He might hear you. He may even wake enough to see you, but he won’t be able to talk.” She stopped and pushed a curtain aside.

Tess hesitated, then poked her head in.

Alex.

His leg was swathed in bandages—from the top of his thigh to his toes—and nestled in a metal contraption with tubes sticking out of both sides and wires connecting him to various machines.

His eyes were closed, his lips pale and chapped. His sable-colored hair, usually worn high and tight, almost touched his shoulders. Although he was a big guy, the machines and tubes made him seem smaller. Vulnerable. Defenseless. He’d hate that. To think he looked anything but strong and confident.

Tess stepped up to the bed and brushed his hair away from his face to reveal more bruises. She touched his cheek as tears blurred her vision. Slowly she sank into the chair next to his bed and twined her fingers in his.

***

Alex opened his eyes and blinked several times, but nothing came into focus except the woman standing at the foot of the bed.

At first he thought he was dreaming. Why would Tess be here? And why was she crying? Then he saw his leg hanging in the air and wrapped in bandages. Something beeped behind his head and the memory of being shot came racing back, yet strangely he seemed disconnected from it.

Against his will his eyes closed, the exhaustion pulling him under.

When he awakened again he had no idea how much time had passed. He looked for Tess, but couldn’t find her. Had she been just a dream? Was this his hell, seeing Tess but not being able to touch her? If so, he’d been living it for months.

Something tickled his arm but he couldn’t move his head to look, so he shifted his gaze to the right. She was sitting in a chair beside him, her cheek resting on the sheets, her bright red hair trailing over the bed to touch his arm. His hand was curled in hers and she was caressing the back of it with her thumb.

“Mrs. Juran?”

Tess turned her head to look behind her and the ends of her hair grazed his hand. His fingers moved—slightly at first, then with more strength. He stared hard at them, willing them to move, and soon he was clutching her hair.

“We need you to step out for a moment,” someone said.

The words dragged his attention to Tess’s face.

Her hand slid from his but when she tried to stand, his hold on her hair pulled her back. She tugged it free. He forced his fingers to close over the few strands that remained.

“Can I stay a little longer?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, but no.”

Tess turned back and kissed his temple. Her hair fell in his eyes and the strawberry scent of her shampoo surrounded him. “I’ll be back,” she whispered in his ear.

He tried to reach for her, to grab her hand, but she disappeared before he could get his muscles to work.

***

Tess ran a shaking hand through her hair and leaned against the wall outside recovery.

“Tess?” Her brother-in-law, Roger Sheffield, stepped up beside her. “We came as soon as we heard. Shannon’s in the waiting room. She’s… Well. Upset.” He glanced away, looking haggard and concerned, his face pale, his lips bloodless.

Tess nodded, too close to tears to speak. She appreciated their support, but wasn’t up to dealing with her sister’s hysterics at the moment and wished they would have just stayed home.

“How is he?” Roger asked.

“It’s bad.”

“Is he awake?”

She shook her head and repeated to Roger what the doctor had told her about the knee and the vest that had saved his life.

“He was wearing a vest?” Roger asked.

She nodded and rubbed her temple where a headache was forming.

“He’ll live then?”

“If he can get through the next few hours.” She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. When she opened them, Roger was gone.

Chapter Three

Alex existed in a haze. Awake, yet not awake. Aware, but not really caring. The continuous beep of the monitors above his head should have been annoying, but instead they were comforting. At least then he knew he was alive.

Occasionally, he tried to open his eyes, but found it easier just to float.

Sometimes he heard Tess’s voice and the monitors changed their beat. Grew stronger, faster. He thought he’d talked to her once, but couldn’t be sure.

“You should have died, Juran.”

Alex jerked. The monitors made a screeching sound. He tried to open his eyes but they seemed weighted down—like he was in a dream and couldn’t wake up. Except he knew this wasn’t a dream. You didn’t smell in dreams and he could smell this guy.

Old cigarettes and fear.

“You’re delaying the inevitable. You know that, don’t you?”

The person leaned in, tickling Alex’s ear with his smoker’s breath.

Scenes flashed behind his eyelids. Metal warehouses. Jason. A John Deere cap.

“Why didn’t you cooperate? Why didn’t you die?”

The voice pushed buttons inside him. He turned his head. The orange flare of a firing gun flashed through his mind. Blinding pain. Darkness. Tess.

“Sir!”

Alex jumped.
That
voice belonged to the nurse who’d been taking care of him.

“Sir, you’re not supposed to be in here. You’ll have to leave.”

The scrape of the man’s shoe and the suddenly fresh air indicated he’d stepped back.

The nurse harrumphed and Alex felt the cool touch of her fingers on his wrist. The monitors resumed their normal beat. A wave of exhaustion threatened to pull him under but his mind rebelled. Where had he heard that voice before?

“There you go, Mr. Juran. Just gave you something to help you sleep.” She patted his arm.

Black clouds of unconsciousness rushed in.

***

Tess woke with sandpaper eyes and a cotton-ball mouth. She sat up, pushed the hair out of her eyes and looked at the clock. Ten a.m.

Shoving Othello off her legs, she scrambled out of bed and raced into the shower. In record time she was in the kitchen gulping a glass of orange juice. Last night she’d had every intention of staying at the hospital but Tony and the doctors had insisted she go home and rest. She’d fallen into an exhausted sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow and she hadn’t meant to sleep at all, let alone so late.

Waiting for her toast to pop up, her toes tapped an uneven rhythm on the terra cotta floor and her eyes fell on the calendar attached to the refrigerator.

Tomorrow was the final proceedings for her divorce.
Her
divorce. She’d always thought of it that way. Not Alex’s. Not even theirs. Hers. Her stomach rolled as it did every time she thought of walking into court and ending her marriage, and she wondered, not for the first time, if she was doing the right thing. Except now she had more to consider. Alex’s injury. Whether he was going to live and what his life was going to be like if—
when
—he recovered. Could she do this to him? Now?

Ever?

She grabbed the phone and dialed her attorney’s home number before she could second guess herself.

“’Lo,” the groggy voice answered on the fourth ring.

“Marlene? It’s Tess. Sorry to bother you at home on a Sunday.”

“Tess?”

Tess heard movement on the other side and a distinctive male voice. “Sorry, Marlene. You, um, sound busy.”

“No, no. Not at all. What’s up, Tess?”

Black toast popped out of the toaster and she stared at it, forming the words in her mind before she said them. “Alex was shot Friday night.”

Marlene hissed in a breath. “Oh my God, Tess. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

The odor of burnt bread made her stomach turn. She threw her breakfast to the dog, who immediately pounced on it, then she unplugged the toaster and shoved the appliance into the cabinet.

“I can’t go through with this while Alex is hurt, Marlene.”

“Tess—”

“No.” She shook her head even though Marlene couldn’t see it. “I won’t do that to him. I won’t end our marriage while he’s like this.”
Is that the only reason? Just because he’s in the hospital? Or is it an excuse?
Because even though he’d torn her heart apart with his indifference and his absences, deep down she still loved him. That was brought home to her when she was racing to the hospital, praying he was still alive.

“All right,” Marlene said on a sigh. “I’ll call the judge, he can contact Alex’s attorney.”

“Thanks, Marlene.”

“Hang in there, Tess. We’ll get you through this.”

Tess hung up and rubbed her eyes but all she could picture was Alex hooked up to those machines, tubes coming out of his leg and bags of medicine dripping into his arm.

A divorce was one thing, but Alex’s death would rip a hole inside her that all the pain that had come before couldn’t even begin to compare to.

***

Alex opened his eyes to find himself looking out a wide window where dark gray clouds heavy with snow hovered in the distance.

The absence of the machines plunged the room into an uncomfortable quiet. His throat hurt, as if he’d swallowed a watermelon whole. He licked dry lips and tasted stale rubber. God, he could use a drink right now. A tall, ice-cold beer.

“Oh, good, you’re awake.” A nurse walked in with a big smile and a stethoscope wrapped around her neck. “Welcome back, Officer Juran. There are a lot of people waiting to talk to you.”

Alex licked his lips with a dry tongue. “Water.” His voice sounded like two arguing bullfrogs and even that short word tired him out.

“Coming right up.”

The wet
glub-glub
of pouring water had his mouth salivating. Nurse Perky shoved a cup with a straw under his nose and he drank deeply.

She pulled the cup away. Water sprayed his face and he jerked back.

“Sorry, not too much at once. When that settles you can have more.”

She raised the head of his bed and he was faced with a wall of flower arrangements and dancing balloons. Bits and pieces of the last several days drifted back to him, but a complete picture refused to form. “What day is it?”

She fiddled with the IVs. “Monday, December twelfth.” She started humming the song “The Twelve Days of Christmas”.

Alex went still. “What time is it?”

“Two in the afternoon.”

He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Officer Juran, are you in pain?”

He laughed, a short bark of sound that scraped his already raw throat. Pain came in many forms. Over the last several days he’d felt physical pain like he’d never felt before and never wanted to feel again. Over the past six months, he’d discovered a completely different sort of pain.

Yeah, he was in pain all right.

“I’m fine,” he managed.

“You want me to open the curtains a little more? Looks like we’ll be getting snow. A white Christmas for sure.”

Alex shook his head.

“Okay, then. Just use this little button here—” she picked up a gray box attached to a wire,“—to call me if you need anything.”

Alex stared out the window, watching the heavy clouds drift in, and tried not to think that his marriage had ended sometime in the last hour.
Shit
. He didn’t think it would be like this. This emptiness. It wasn’t like they’d been living together or anything. He’d been out of the house for six months. And, yeah, he’d admit that they’d grown apart before that, but he’d never expected her to actually go through with the divorce.

The door opened again and a petite woman with a cap of gray hair walked in. “Hello, Mr. Juran.” She walked over to the bed and held out her hand. “I’m Dr. Ford. I worked on that knee of yours. How’s it feel?”